


The Short Sleep

by misura



Category: Nightside Series - Simon R. Green
Genre: Book: The Good the Bad and the Uncanny, Drug Addiction, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And so Carnaby Jones led John Taylor to the Dragon's Mouth.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Short Sleep

Carnaby Jones. Also called the Wide-Eyed Boy, because he approached everything and everyone as if they were part of some grand and wondrous new adventure. And somehow, when you were in his company, he made you feel like that, too, because that was his gift.

Generally, the Nightside had a name for people with an attitude like that of Carnaby's. In polite company, they might be referred to as 'tourists'. In not so polite company, they were called 'sheep', ready to be fleeced and taken for all they had.

Carnaby Jones wasn't here to see the sights, though, and he definitely wasn't here to be taken advantage of. He was here to look good and do good and just have an all around wonderful time.

Most of all, he was here to stay.

 

John Taylor was a man who felt his life might benefit from a bit of grand and wondrous new adventure, if only because he had a hard time imagining any kind of change to his current situation that wouldn't have been an improvement.

He hadn't really wanted to call on Carnaby, because he felt that some problems were just too big and awful to drag your friends into. So Carnaby had called on _him_ , and John hadn't had the heart to turn him down, partially because he didn't have much heart to do anything these days, and partially because he was desperate, and a drowning man would grasp at anything, even an old friend. Especially an old friend.

"I just want to get away from it all," said John. He realized he was whining, and couldn't bring himself to care. An untouched cup of coffee was standing on the table in front of him.

"Perfectly understandable," said Carnaby, sipping his own coffee. He had dressed casually for the occasion, wearing only a simple t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Minimalism was very in right now.

Of course, being who he was, Carnaby could have worn a trashbag and made it look fashionable.

John sighed. "I'm just so damn _tired_ all the time. Can't seem to get rid of this headache, either."

"Sounds like perhaps you need a little break." Carnaby looked thoughtful and perhaps, for the briefest of moment, something like regret passed over his face. John didn't see, too caught up in his own world, his own trouble to notice anything else. "I think I may know just the place, if you're up for it."

John took a sip of his coffee, only to find it had gone cold. He grimaced. "I'm up for it," he said. "Of course I'm up for it. It's you, after all."

"Yes," said Carnaby. "That's right, John. It's me."

 

And so Carnaby Jones led John Taylor to the Dragon's Mouth, and if he had any doubts along the way, he didn't voice them. He was still the Wide-Eyed Boy, still looking at the world for grand and wondrous adventures, but these past months, the world had just no longer seemed willing to oblige him.

Oh, he still went through the motions, of course. After all, it would never do for people to notice he no longer was the man he used to be. It was only a matter of time, though, and then they would all see. Carnaby didn't know what he was going to do about that.

He had a lot of friends. At least, there were a great many people who called themselves his friends. In reality, Carnaby was fairly sure they'd all turn their backs on him the moment they discovered he didn't have his gift anymore.

John was one of the few people Carnaby had felt he'd be able to count on. He'd even hoped, for a while, that John might be able to help him, might somehow use his gift to find the one thing that would make Carnaby's world wondrous and grand again.

And then they'd met for coffee, and Carnaby had realized that John wouldn't be able to help him after all. John wasn't even able to help himself. It was all horribly disappointing and unfair. John had let him down, and Carnaby didn't like that. Still, he tried to be understanding, to be the good friend John really didn't deserve him to be anymore.

 

The Host smiled, when he spotted Carnaby, and then he spotted John, and he smiled even wider.

"A new face. Welcome, welcome. And you as well, of course, Mr Jones."

"I ... " John was frowning, as if he still didn't appreciate what Carnaby was doing for him by bringing him here. "I'm not sure if I should be here. In fact, I'm not sure if _you_ should be here, Carnaby. This place is - "

"A place where all your fantasies come true," said the Host, still smiling. "Only the ones you want to, of course. We don't judge. We simply ... provide. Facilitate."

"For a price," said John, and for just a few seconds, there was something of the old John in his voice, the John who'd have walked into this place alongside Carnaby Jones and trashed it, to make the Nightside a little bit cleaner and better.

The Host shrugged. "Our customers are happy to pay. They're all here by their own free will."

"I don't want fantasies," said John, slowly, and Carnaby could see the determination slip out of him again. "I just want to forget for a while. To have it all go away."

"Of course," said the Host. "Mr Jones, why don't you go to your usual cubicle? I'll be along in just a minute. Right this way, Mr Taylor. I know just what you need."

"Wait," said Carnaby. He didn't even know why himself; John had gone back to looking dull and useless, a shadow of the man he used to be. (Which made two of them, Carnaby supposed. Maybe it was as simple as that: he recognized himself in John, just a bit. Just enough.) "He's ... John's a friend."

"Any friend of yours is a friend of ours, Mr Jones," said the Host, bowing and smiling, and Carnaby decided that, really, what did it matter, anyway? As long as he got his wonderful dreams, why should he be bothered about anything else?

 

He wished the dreams would last longer, sometimes.

He wished they could last forever.

 

He wasn't there, the day Razor Eddie came for John Taylor. It was probably just as well, given the man's extremely unpleasant reputation.

For a few days, Carnaby couldn't seem to stop glancing over his shoulder, wondering if maybe Eddie would be coming after him, as the man who'd brought John to the Dragon's Mouth. The Host was very kind, very understanding. He provided Carnaby with some lovely, lovely fantasies.

After two weeks, he decided he was probably safe. The Punk God of the Sraight Razor wasn't known for his patience; if he wanted you dead, you either died or you buried yourself so deep you might as well have been.

Of course, frequenting the Dragon's Mouth might very well count.


	2. The Devil in the Depth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When you wanted a diplomat, you didn't call on the Punk God of the Straight Razor._

When Walker wanted someone found, they were found. If they knew what was good for them.

That might very well be part of the problem, Walker reflected sourly, sipping his tea: some people simply didn't know what was good for them at all. In fact, it seemed to have turned into a bit of an epidemic, these past weeks. (Several members of the waiting staff noticed his frown and started to think about all the awful things they'd heard about Walker doing to those who'd displeased him.)

Happily, most people were still smart enough to do what he told them to do. Simply because they didn't know what was good for them, that didn't quite mean they were suicidal, after all.

There were a few notable exceptions, of course. Although it probably didn't count as suicidal when you were not, in fact, able to die.

"Walker."

"Eddie." Walker inclined his head slightly. In theory, everyone who heard his Voice would obey him. Instantly and blindly and regardless of their own wishes.

In practice, he wasn't particularly keen on discovering whether his Voice would work on someone like Razor Eddie. If only because Eddie would probably hold a grudge, after, which meant Walker would have to kill him, or come as close as he could get.

Walker didn't doubt for a moment that he would be able to figure something out, but it would be messy and take a lot of time and effort, and besides, every now and then, a situation came up where someone like Eddie came in quite useful.

"Word on the street is, you wanted to speak to me. So here I am."

"As easy as that?"

Eddie looked at him. "I take it this is about John. He's a friend. Even if he probably doesn't think of it that way."

"I'm sure he would say the same about you," said Walker. He was fairly certain John had, in fact, said that. Very nearly literally, too. "But yes, this is about John."

"You let him go into that place. You can get him out of it yourself."

"Ah," said Walker. "I'm afraid that right now, John and I aren't on the best of terms. A small misunderstading - on his part, it goes without saying. Still, I don't really think he would listen to anything I might tell him. You, on the other hand. Well. One can always hope."

"Talking isn't really my specialty."

"Try," said Walker. "Use other means, if necessary. At this point, I don't care."

Eddie sighed. "I suppose I could improvise."

"Suddenly and violently and all over the place. Within reason, of course. If you go too far, I will be forced to state most emphatically that your presence there was not, in any way, sanctioned by me."

"You're going to do that anyway."

"Of course."

"You used him," said Eddie. "Used him until he broke. I'll get him back, but I'll do it for him. Not for you."

"Try not to kill anyone too important on your way there, please."

Eddie made no reply. Walker supposed it had been too much to ask, anyway. Eddie had been right; when you wanted a diplomat, you didn't call on the Punk God of the Straight Razor.

Oh well. The die had been cast, so to speak, and Walker felt confident things would work out to his advantage. They always did.

(He made sure to leave a big tip. He figured the staff deserved it, for having had Razor Eddie within a hundred feet of their kitchen.)

 

Razor Eddie was walking to the Dragon's Mouth, and everyone who saw him come got out of his way in a hurry. They knew he was supposed to be a force for good, but almost everybody has got something they feel guilty about, and it seemed more prudent not to take any unnecessary risks.

After he'd disappeared inside, a few people offered bets on whether or not he was going to come out again. This was the Nightside, after all.

There even were a few takers.

 

At the bottom of the winding stone stairs, old Mother Connell stood waiting for him. She was armed with a sawed-off shotgun. Eddie imagined she might cause quite a bit of damage with it. To herself, that was - even if he wasn't quite sure how human she was.

Old Mother Connell had been around for a very long time, and nobody remembered her looking any younger than she did now. Or older. Some people said she was a witch. Others claimed she had been a princess, once upon a time, a captive of the now petrified dragon.

"I'm only here for John," said Razor Eddie. He was not a diplomat, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware of the concept of tact. He simply chose not to use it, most of the time.

Bad people did bad things. Dead people generally didn't do much of anything. It was as simple as that.

"He came here of his own free will," she said.

"Yes," said Eddie. "And now he's going to leave." He might be unsure about the shotgun, but he knew that if he cut her with his razor, she would bleed.

She got out of his way without another word. Not because she feared him, but because the Host had arrived. A guest was a guest, after all. All were welcome, in the Dragon's Mouth, even those who hadn't come there to be seduced.

Especially those who hadn't come there to be seduced.

And so the Host smiled his polite smile and bowed. "A new face. Welcome, sir."

"You will take me to John, and then the two of us will leave," said Eddie.

"I will be happy to take you to your friend," said the Host. "And if he wants to leave, why, of course he is free to do so. Or perhaps he will convince you to stay for a while. He is quite happy here, you see."

"All I see in this place are victims," said Eddie.

"You wrong us." The Host smiled and gestured. "But I'm sure Mr Taylor will be able to explain much better than I could hope to. These days, I think he spends more time here, with us, than anywhere else. We're quite happy to have him, of course."

Mother Connell might still be human, but Eddie sensed that there was nothing at all human about the Host. Eddie might make him bleed, and possibly, it would hurt him. A little. But probably not even that.

The Host was the personification of that soft, sly voice nearly everyone has heard at one point in their lives, encouraging you to do all the things that you know will be bad for you. Away from the Dragon's Mouth, where people tried to pretend they were in control of their appetites and desires and sudden impulses, Eddie might have damaged him, but not here.

"John just wanted to forget for a while," said the Host, as he led Eddie through the cavern, to a set of cubicles. "We helped him with that. We can do the same for you, too. If you want."

"No," said Eddie. "There is nothing I would want to forget. Nothing I regret. Nothing I feel guilty about."

The Host glanced at him, and for a moment, something almost like fear passed over his face. Then the polite smile slipped back into place. "Well, do let me know if you change your mind. We can give you other things, too, you know. Any wish, any desire you've ever had, we can make come true."

"You're lying," said Eddie, calmly. "All you can offer people are fantasies. Dreams. Illusions."

"Over there." The Host pointed. "Take him, get out of here, and never come back."

"Don't give me a reason to," said Eddie.

 

"John?"

This was the tricky part, Eddie knew. Talking to John. Coaxing him back from a place where there were no memories, no regrets, no guilt. Eddie didn't know about any of those things, although sometimes, he tried to. Just so he'd be able to understand other people a little bit better. It never worked, though.

"John?"

He wasn't capable of it. Not anymore. He felt joy, and grief, and anger, sometimes, but they were always things he felt in the now, the present. The past was the past. Behind him. Not important.

"Go away," said John.

"Only if you're coming with me, John."

"I don't want to."

In his current state, John would not be able to put up much of a fight. Eddie could probably just drag him along. The Host would be there, of course, smiling his polite smile, and gloating on the inside.

"You're not helping anyone with this, John," said Eddie, softly. "The bad things aren't going to become any less real. You're just putting yourself in a place where you can't do anything about them anymore."

"I could never do anything about them anyway," said John. "I always fail the ones I love. The ones I try to protect. You shouldn't have come here, Eddie. This place isn't for you."

"It's not for you either, John."

"Yes, it is. A place where I can't hurt anyone anymore. A place where I can forget, and be happy."

"Happiness must be earned," said Eddie. "Do you think you do? Really? After what you've done, I'd have thought you'd want to make amends, fix things. Not hide away and tell yourself you didn't do anything wrong. pretend it will all turn out all right as long as you look away."

John lifted his head, and Eddie realized that he might be capable of feeling guilt, after all. It stung, a little, but then it was gone again. He'd said what he'd needed to say, to get through to John.

"I can't do it, Eddie," said John. "Not by myself. I'm not strong enough. Don't you think I tried?"

"You don't have to do it alone. You've still got some friends, John. You've got me."

John sighed and slowly got to his feet. He was looking very thin, like all it would take was a strong breeze to knock him over. His shirt was dirty, but still cleaner than Eddie's clothes.

"Come on," said Eddie. "Let's go."

(He hadn't been truthful, he realized, when he'd told the Host this place only had fantasies to offer. This - John's arm slung around his shoulder, John's eyes showing a spark of life again - this was real.)


End file.
